Dinner's on the Table
by TheMadKatter13
Summary: [MerKat RPs series 14] He looked deceptively calm, but he knew he was being watched, the way a gazelle could tell a lion was nearby. Only, this gazelle was happy to go straight to lion's mouth. Dom!top!Sherlock / sub!bottom!John


**When Kat originally suggested vamplock, she was thinking a teen/unilock. Mer was thinking Johnlockstrade. So we did both.**

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John's heart raced like it always did as he climbed the steps to Sherlock's room. They'd been together a few months now, but only John knew what he really was. Everyone else knew him as that weird guy that seemed to spend every night in the labs and no one really saw in class during the day. But there was a reason for that. John pushed open the door to find Sherlock lounging on his sofa. He looked deceptively calm, but he knew he was being watched, the way a gazelle could tell a lion was nearby. Only, this gazelle was happy to go straight to lion's mouth. His cock twitched in anticipation as he went to the sofa and knelt next to his lover.

It was impossible to not know when John was near him, but Sherlock did not acknowledge him for several long minutes as he finished organising the most recent batch of case information in his mind palace. When he finally opened his eyes, it was to find his lover kneeling at his side, head leaning against his hip and his eyes closed with a lazy, content smile across his face. Sherlock's tongue darted out to lick his lips as he raised one hand to stroke his fingers through the kneeling boy's hair. John, rather than jumping in surprise at the sudden touch, gave a little sigh and relaxed even further against him. Slowly, long, pale fingers travelled down the tan face to the bare neck.

"You have forgotten something, my John," he murmured, wrapping his hand around the teen's throat lightly in both reminder and reprimand.

John jerked back. "No touching without permission." He swallowed around the grip and forced himself to look away from the beautiful eyes. John trusted Sherlock completely.

"Mhm..." the detective hummed. "But that is not all. What did I gift you last week that I instructed you should put on when you walk in the door?" He ignored the swelling pride in his heart at the dawning comprehension on the young man's face. "And what are you supposed to take off when you come home?"

John blushed and scrambled to his feet. "I forgot," he mumbled, quickly stripping out of his clothes and folding them neatly. He placed them on the shelf Sherlock had indicated and picked up the collar. He glanced in the mirror as he put it on. He liked the way it looked against his skin, and what it meant for the two of them.

He walked back to his lover and slipped to his knees again.

The sight of John's collar sitting high on his throat, a design of Sherlock's own, made his cock throb painfully behind the zip of his trousers. As did the willing submission from someone like John, someone as strong as the pre-med student was, in body as well as in mind. Such willingness was intoxicating. Addictive. Sherlock suddenly sat up, swinging one leg over John's head as he did so so that when he came to a stop, his lover was sitting between his knees, calm as could be despite the flurry of sudden movement from his master. It made Sherlock want to take him out, to a club that catered to others like them, and show off how beautifully his sub controlled himself, the level of trust he gave to Sherlock. But he likely wouldn't; Holmeses did not share.

John focused on his breathing, feeling the way Sherlock was appraising him. It made his cock twitch all over again, to be under that gaze. No doubt his master could see his body's reaction. But he was glad for this. School was stressful as it was, it was nice to give up control like this, at least for a little while.

For a long moment, Sherlock just watched as John's eyes closed and his muscles began to relax one by one. When his lover was as fully relaxed as much as he was capable outside of unconsciousness or a scene, the younger man silently stood up and back onto the couch and then over the back, striding to his room. When he returned, object in hand, his sub was right where he left him, patiently waiting. Sherlock went to his knees behind him, wrapping both arms around his waist and grasping the swelling erection in one hand. John twitched, but successfully retained his silence as his master gave his cock a single lazy stoke. A moment later, he was snapping a cockring into place.

Taking a breath, then another, John relaxed just a little more. He wanted to know what Sherlock had in mind for him, but that was part of the game. In his mind he thought of his safe word, keeping it close by, just in case. Sometimes his master liked to push him, test his boundaries. He could feel his lover's erection pressing against him, though it was still fully covered. He remembered the first time, nearly screaming as he came, Sherlock thick and full inside of him. His cock twitched again and he tried to reign in his thoughts. Sherlock would take care of him.

As soon as John's minor twitches faded, Sherlock stood and backed away to move the low sitting room table. He doubted the student had even noticed it was larger than it had been before and he smiled as he retrieved the hidden roll of plastic. It unfurled in a wave across the floor with a flick of his wrists and in his peripheral, he saw the other boy's head cock to the side curiously. A moment later, Sherlock had the table perfectly centred on top of the clear plastic and padded cuffs attached to each leg.

"Stand up, John," he commanded softly, smiling at the eagerness with which he complied. "Come here." There was a slight pause as John debated whether or not he should open his eyes, and then Sherlock smiled proudly when he kept them closed as he began to move forward.

John let himself be led and cuffed to the table. He shifted a bit, getting comfortable. His heart thudded in his chest as he listened to Sherlock move around. His lover's hands were gently, but he knew what power lay in them. He breathed slowly, erection flagging just a little, but kept in place by the ring

For a long moment, Sherlock just stared at the open canvas that was his lover's naked, splayed body. When he finally broke his gaze away, it was with a lick of his lips and a rough swallow of a dry throat as he walked a slow circle around the table. His hand was close to trembling as he reached into his pocket.

"Should I blindfold you or will you be good boy and keep your eyes closed for me?" he asked, voice coming out in a breathy rasp.

"I can keep them closed." There was a slight tremble in John's voice. He could hear Sherlock's desire and control. Whatever he had planned it was big. He flexed his hands in the cuffs.

"Good boy," he praised, stroking his empty hand once through his sub's hair and smiling at the way John turned into the touch. He was equal parts nervous and excited about today's scene. In some ways, it tipped the line invisible line that bordered their scenes, and in others, it fit so well that it was a wonder they hadn't done it sooner. Sherlock bit his lip as he pulled the sheath from the sharp blade and slipped the leather back into his pocket, admiring the shine of it in the low light. He pressed the tip lightly to John's sternum, his sub jumping at the sensation of the sharp, cold metal, and then he dragged the tip in a straight line towards the tan belly button. He wasn't pressing hard enough to cut, only to scrape, but the sight of that scrape starting white and then flushing as blood rose just under the unbroken skin had him releasing a breathy moan into the quiet air.

John thought of his safe word as his heart thrummed in his chest. Was that a knife? He fought the urge to open his eyes and focused on breathing. His skin stung, then sang as the knife was raised. It came down again, a little sharper this time, and a moan tumbled from his lips, keeping himself still as he could, wanting to trust.

His sub's eyes had flickered as if they would open and Sherlock had paused for a split second, hoping John wouldn't disobey him. When the student settled again, he pressed the tip back to the first point of contact and pulled it down along the same line. This time, he did pull blood, tiny droplets welling along the thin scrape in the path of his blade. For a moment, all he could do was stare entranced at the red dotting the tan skin. John moaned and trembled with the effort it took him to remain still, but for all that, he remained still as the blade fell to his skin again and again made Sherlock tremble in turn, his hunger rising swiftly in reaction. He held it off, a test of control for him as much as it was for John, and began scraping impermanent designs into his lover's skin, his initials key among them.

John focused on breathing. He knew it wasn't permanent, what Sherlock was doing. He wanted to open his eyes, to see the hunger that was no doubt all over his lover's face. Instead he tried to surrender. To trust that Sherlock was a good master and wouldn't hurt him, not in any major way. He could feel the blade marking his skin, sparks of pain and pressure, then pleasure as the knife was raised and blood rushed in. It felt like there was some design he was working at and he wondered if it meant anything special. Finally he felt his mind slipping a bit as he sunk into sub-space, relaxing as he gave up the control.

By the time he was satisfied with his work, John's skin was littered with his initials and symbols of possession from his first language, and blue eyes were showing glazed from behind barely-parted lids. Subspace then. Lovely... but not quite what he wanted of his lover this session. The blade was quickly cleaned and sheathed, safe and respected in his pocket rather than amidst the clutter. After a quick glance over the bound teen, Sherlock hurried to his room to retrieve his riding crop, pleased to find upon his return that his sub was so deep that he hadn't even noticed his absence. Time to pull him from that. Safely. He wanted his lover begging and screaming for his crop and his cock before he did so much as press a finger to a taut perineum.

Gradually, John was aware of the sensation of Sherlock's riding crop on his thigh. Blinking, he looked up at Sherlock a moment before remembering he was supposed to have his eyes closed. He snapped them shut again as the angle changed and came down harder, making him moan. Slowly his master increased the pressure and the pain. John's cock twitched as he cried out, revelling in the sensation. Sherlock kept the crop moving and John screwed his eyes tightly shut, knowing how much his lover liked his cries, but also aware that the dorm room was in no way soundproof.

The tongue of the crop was snapping against John's skin, painting swathes of bright red around the marks his knife had already made, highlighting them. The red wasn't enough. John's self-muffled cries weren't enough. He needed _more_. His arm swung harder, the precise amount of strength employed that he knew would cause bruising but no lasting damage. His sub cried out and arched into the swings, the scratches and cuts Sherlock had made reddening and swelling with blood angrily. Between his legs, John's erection was thick and weeping with what it could produce outside of the cockring, and without warning, the crop came down on the sensitive head. His lover nearly screamed with a dry orgasm, cock twitching near-violently as the man sobbed at the orgasm denial. Sherlock smiled and redirected his weapon to the sensitive insides of firm thighs.

John twitched underneath him, tears in his eyes as he tried to catch his breath under the onslaught of swings. Just when he thought he couldn't take any more and he'd have to safeword out, the crop stilled. He panted, and then Sherlock's tongue was on his skin. He moaned and shivered with another near orgasm at the cool tongue on his overheated flesh. Another sob broke free of his chest as he fought the urge to open his eyes.

The twitch of his sub's eyes didn't escape his notice and Sherlock's heart swelled again in pride at the boy's control. "You've done so wonderful, John," he murmured as he kissed his way down that sturdy sternum and the slightly soft belly. "You look so beautiful right now, covered in my marks. You held together so well for their reception," he continued, kissing the crease of a thigh and skipping around the cock and balls in front of him, despite the sound of despair it gained, and moved to lick the furled bud of John's arse. The hips in front of him twitched heavily, resisting the need to shove themselves encouragingly in his face, and he rewarded the restraint with another lick. "Perhaps you would like your reward now?" he mused. "I think my cock in your arse should do nicely."

"Please," moaned John. "Please fuck me. I've been so good." All he wanted was to feel Sherlock inside of him and release. He knew he'd be feeling this for days and days already.

"Mmm, I suppose I can do that.," Sherlock teased with another lick. And then he began in earnest, the lines of drying blood on his sub's skin putting him in a bit of a controlled frenzy. He licked and he tongue-fucked until John was loose and open and positively begging for his cock. Like he'd planned. Sherlock pulled away, unzipped his trousers, pulled his cock out, and settled into position before pressing the tip of his cock to the loose hole... and then paused to admire the way his crops' marks were slowly darkening into bruises. "Beautiful," he praised as he slowly pushed just the head of his cock into his lover before just as slowly pulling it free. "Just beautiful."

"Sherlock," John moaned. It felt so very good, the slow fullness of his lover's cock, the way his body ached. He was still hyper aware of everything, but Sherlock made sure it felt good too. The cock dragged inside of him, a slow burn competing with the sharper burns on his skin. He must look a mess. But no one would see him naked but Sherlock. Swallowing, he felt the collar around his neck. This was all he wanted, all he needed. "You're so good to me."

"Yes," the detective hissed, sliding just a little further inside, relishing the way it felt like John's body was trying to suck him in. He continued in that manner, rocking slowly into his lover, hyper aware that he hadn't bothered with any lubricant besides what saliva he'd slicked John's hole with. But the slide, the friction, was nothing short of delicious, and for a split second, his control slipped and bent over the bound form to lick a long line up the centre of his chest. He tasted the barest hints of sweat mixed with John's blood and he closed his eyes, humming in satisfaction as his cock came to a stop wrapped fully in John's soft heat.

John groaned and writhed a bit on his cock, couldn't help it. So full. It almost felt like Sherlock was splitting him apart. But in this moment, there was nothing he wanted more. He could feel Sherlock's weight over him, his breath on his skin. He fought the urge to open his eyes, to demand a kiss. "Please," he whispered.

For a long moment, Sherlock just let John's plea hang in the air. But his sub really had been quite good today, and so finally, he leaned forward, engaging his lover in a soft kiss as he pulled out and shoved back in. John gasped below him, caught between the dual sensation of his gentle kisses and his rough fucking, and Sherlock just smiled. His hunger was spiking along with his orgasm, both driven to their limits by his lover's begging. It was always sweeter when John begged, when he had been pulled to the edge of orgasm and left to wait it out for hours on end. They hadn't quite gotten there today, but it would suffice. At last, Sherlock pulled away lapping softly at the tears on his lover's face, grasping his hips to drive into him harder and harder until John was screaming. The student would be less-than-pleased with him later when he left the dorm to snickers from Sherlock's dormmates over the noise, but that was none of Sherlock's concern. He wrapped the fingers of one hand in John's hair to yank his head to the side and, as his orgasm crested, he ripped off the cockring and sunk his fangs into his lover's neck, moaning at the explosion of orgasm-sweetened blood on his tongue and down his throat.

John thought his mind was exploding from the force of his orgasm. Sherlock's teeth and drinking only drove him higher. He was barely aware of thrashing against the restraints, a second, weak, orgasm followed close on the heels of the first. The world started to come back and he moaned at the soft sensation against his neck.

He hadn't quite had his fill yet, but he did need to slow down. They'd had so much practice with this-John let him feed at least a little bit at least once a week-but he still had to be wary of his own instincts and biological drives. It would kill him if he accidentally killed John. His sucking draws on his lover's neck were slow and gentle as his cock softened inside his sub. When he finally was sated, he eased his fangs free and licked at the marks on the tan neck until his saliva healed the punctures. Pulling away, he found John as he always did after he fed: head lolling on the table with a look of dazed bliss pulling his lips into a soppy smile. Sherlock could only smile back as he eased his lover's wrists and ankles from their cuffs and darted to the toilette for a warm, damp washcloth.

John started to come to himself again as his lover gently cleaned him up. The cuts were starting to sting and he hissed as Sherlock helped him sit up. Over small protests, Sherlock picked him up and carried him to the bed.

John looked a bit small amongst the masses of his white sheets, but as they were _Sherlock's_ sheets, he looked perfect. Like he belonged. The vampire knew well that the cuts would sting when sweat ran into them, would take longer to heal, that he could heal them with a single swipe of his tongue... but he didn't want to do that. He wanted the cuts to stay as long as possible. They wouldn't be public, unless John changed in front of others in the locker rooms, but they still marked the young man as his. Tampering down on his rising possessiveness and need to claim again, Sherlock finally stripped out of his clothes and climbed into the bed next to John.

John rolled carefully onto his side and snuggled against Sherlock, feeling the pain of the cuts. But his whole body was humming from the pleasure and the pain. There was nothing else he wanted but this. He leaned up and kissed Sherlock's jaw before settling down in the crook of his lover's arm.

"I told you you'd pass your exam," Sherlock said after a moment, ending down to nuzzle at his lover's neck. John's blood was a constant temptation to him at all times, the slow, rhythmic pulse under his skin a siren call to the vampire's baser instincts. Often, he spoke, rambled, just to distract himself. "It was foolish of you to worry about it."

"Was still an important test," muttered John. He shifted again, unable to get comfortable. "Can you heal some of these?" He knew Sherlock wanted to claim him and mark him, and that was fine. But he wouldn't be able to sleep otherwise.

Sherlock didn't answer for a moment, just lay there breathing in his lover's scent and contemplating his request. "Yes," he acquiesced after a minute. "But not with my saliva. Lay on your back and wait here." He didn't bother waiting to see if John would obey him, he didn't often when they were out of a scene, and vaulted out of the bed to get a clean, wet washrag and healing salve. When he returned, his lover was on his back, the cuts and scratches on his chest an angry red and a bit puffy, the marks darkening into lovely blue-purple-black bruises. Slowly, gently, Sherlock licked away the dried blood, savouring the taste he wouldn't get for at least another week before he wiped the still body down. When all traces of blood and sweat had been cleansed, he liberally applied salve to each cut, touch firm, but gentle. "Better?" he finally asked when each cut was covered.

"Yes." John hooked his arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. "I'm going to be upset when I look in the mirror, aren't I?" Well, he probably wouldn't. He liked that Sherlock wanted him so badly. And he didn't mind being claimed.

"It was worth the risk," he replied confidently, one lazy finger tracing the marks he'd made. "I'm quite content to mark you in this way until such time when you are comfortable enough to wear my collar outside of my home." Gently, he hooked that same finger in the D-ring and tugged lightly, dropping his head to first press a kiss to the dark leather and then another kiss to the skin below it.

John moaned softly. "I'm still not sure what this is," he said quietly. He knew he'd fallen hard for Sherlock Holmes, but outside of the sex he had no idea if the reverse was true. And that was fine if it wasn't. The sex was certainly amazing enough. And hell, he was a regular treat for a vampire, that had to count as something special.

Sherlock blinked at the oddly insecure statement, and then rolled John to his back, straddling his hips as he pinned both wrists to the bed. He had never told John how he felt, John had never told him how he felt, but he'd assumed it was obvious on both sides. A mistake he would not make again. "_This_ is _us_," he murmured. "This is me wanting you as your Dom and your lover. This is me wanting to keep you until you're rotting in the ground or, if you agree to let me turn you, until the end of time. This is you wanting me and wanting to be with me, wanting to take care of me as my sub and as my lover. Hopefully, one day, this will be you wanting to stay with me for as long as I want to stay with you."

Tears started in John's eyes. "Oh Sherlock," he breathed. "I love you." He looked up into the pale eyes, heart jumping in his chest. He didn't know if he wanted to be turned. But he'd take every moment he could.

There was the same indecision in John's eyes that usually appeared when he spoke of turning his lover, but it better than disgust. It wasn't a "No". And for now, he could be thankful for that. As long as his strong, stubborn sub didn't say "No", Sherlock could work on it until it was a "Yes". "I love you too, my John," he whispered, pressing their lips together and settling on his side, pressed to his lover's warm, living body. "Now go to sleep. You know the importance of rest and food after a feeding. The latter will be waiting for you when you wake."

"Yes, sir," John murmured, snuggling against him. He was grateful for Sherlock, and for what having him here meant. And he was glad to give himself to him: body, heart, and maybe eventually, soul.

FIN

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**Let us know what you thought via a Review, let us know if you have any new AUs (as in one we have yet to write) you'd like to see out of us, and then come by tumblr to see Mer (merindab) and Kat (themadkatter13-fanfiction)!**


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